


Sore

by ellenscult



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellenscult/pseuds/ellenscult
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck keeps on waking up sore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sore

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to LiveJournal and FanFiction.net.

The morning after his life is turned upside down, Chuck wakes up sore. His neck aches from where the Nerd Herder rattled down those steps, and his legs burn from running. It could be worse, he reflects, letting the shower wash away the pain. He could be waking up locked in an underground bunker somewhere. He could be dead. He can live with sore.

Chuck doesn't deliberately get more exercise, but he gets used to running: for his life, after Sarah, to stop Casey from pounding another shoplifter into the gravel of the Buy More carpark. His legs no longer threaten to turn into cooked noodles, his lungs don't feel as though they're on fire.

He still wakes up sore, though. Usually it's from disobeying an order to stay in the car, but sometimes it's from staying in the car. Nowhere is safe, he thinks. Nowhere is private. But he thinks it in a detached way, because it's easier to push those things to the back of his mind than to hold them close. Before he learned how to do that, the anger and the hurt of constant casual violations and betrayals pushed him close to the edge. And having been shoved, thrown and dropped off too many edges, he's not keen on standing there any more.

There are mornings when the edge comes to him, though. Mornings when he has dreamed of picket fences and happily-ever-afters. Mornings when he has to face his sister's bewildered disappointment in him, when all the years of friendship with Morgan seem insubstantial. Mornings after he has let himself hope for something greater: sensed the possibilities of his own life.

And there are mornings when he wakes up sore and hurting, finds it difficult to keep from wincing as he raises his arms to take a bowl out of the cupboard for his cereal, but he knows it is all worthwhile because the world is still largely intact and after everything, the people he cares about, the people he loves, are still alive.

Then there is the morning that Chuck wakes slowly, sore, but happy. Sarah is in his arms, head tucked under his chin, one naked leg snaked between his. And at his back, reassuringly solid like the proverbial immovable object, Casey is lying, his chest against Chuck's shoulders and an arm over his waist. This kind of sore, he thinks, is the kind he could live with forever.


	2. Sore: More! The Writer's Cut

When Chuck wakes up, he is sore. This is nothing new, except that it's the middle of the afternoon, and he's awake because someone has just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head. He's sore because the same person has him tied to a chair with ropes that are far too tight. This is also the same person who hit him over the head earlier this afternoon, knocking him out in the first place.

'Support calls suck,' Chuck thinks, then out loud he says, 'Sir, I'm certain I can fix whatever the problem is with your PC if you'll just untie me before my hands drop off from lack of blood.'

'Your damn store sold me this piece of shit in the first place!' the man shouts, kicking at the black case which is lying on its side on the floor. Chuck winces. 'They can give me a new one!'

'I'm sure we can arrange it, sir, I'll just have to do the paperwork,' Chuck babbles. His ribs are sore; he's pretty sure the guy must have kicked him too.

'A better one!' The man picks up the mouse and hurls it across the warehouse.

'As compensation for your time and emotional distress, that's only fair,' Chuck agrees.

The man, who, Chuck notes, is wearing dirty blue jeans and a gray t-shirt with stains under the armpits, quiets down and comes over. He leans over Chuck, lank black hair dropping into his eyes and, with a mouthful of bad teeth, says, 'Damn straight, my emotional distress.' He's about to cut the ropes that are cutting off Chuck's circulation when something about his smell - a sour rankness just overlying the eau de unwashed body - triggers a flash.

'Speed!' Chuck gasps. 'Hard Mike!'

The man jerks back as though he's been burned. 'What the fuck did you say?'

'N-nothing!' Chuck stammers, but it's too late.

'What the fuck do you know about Hard Mike?' the man snarls. 'Oh shit, you're with the DEA!'

'I promise you I'm not! I know absolutely nothing!' Chuck's eyes are wide, his mouth on automatic as he panics.

He's right to panic. The knife in the man's hand is suddenly in his thigh, handle sticking straight up out of the meat of his leg.

Chuck gapes at it, sees blood start to well up around it, before his head is snapped back by a punch.

'Ow!'

The guy reaches back, and Chuck thinks he's winding up to hit him again, but no, he's pulling out a gun instead.

'Oh crap!' Chuck doesn't even think to close his eyes this time. He's stared down the barrel of so many guns by now that he notes in passing that this one is a .38 H&amp;K pistol. The presence of his bullet-proof vest is scant consolation when the guy is aiming for his head.

Then the door explodes and there's a swarm of agents filling the room, led by Sarah and Casey, who take in the scene in an instant. As one they fire and Chuck is covered in blood and brains and a few little bits of bone and the strung-out junkie is so much cooling meat on the floor.

When Sarah slices through his bonds, Chuck leans forwards and vomits. Casey has a band around the top of his thigh and is pulling it tight even as he calls out for a medic.

They treat him right there in the warehouse, although someone is kind enough to cover up the body. Chuck explains his flash, how the guy was stretched thin into paranoid twitches by a particular batch of speed cooked up by a dealer called Hard Mike. With hands that shake so much he can barely hold things, Chuck takes a look at the PC. A cable has come loose inside the case, and when he pushes it back into the right socket and turns on the power, the computer boots up straight away.

Somehow that makes it worse.

It turns out that the junkie is one of Hard Mike's lieutenants, and the computer contains a distribution list. It's not complete, but it's a damn sight more than the DEA had to go on before, so Sarah and Casey hand it off to them and take their asset home.

Home turns out to be Casey's apartment rather than Chuck's own. Not wanting to have to explain why Chuck looks as though he slipped while walking through an abattoir, Sarah and Casey sit him on the side of the bath while Casey starts up the shower.

Sarah takes his door-key although she doesn't need it and returns with a set of clean clothes while Casey reports in to the General, who is very unhappy with the Intersect's close call and lets Casey know about it so loudly that Chuck can hear her over the noise of the shower, though he can't tell exactly what it is that she's shouting.

Casey and Sarah come back into the bathroom together. Sarah puts the armful of clothing onto the counter near the sink while Casey helps Chuck back to his feet. Casey can feel him shaking as he undoes the buttons on his shirt and pushes it off his slim shoulders. He undoes the velcro straps on Chuck's bullet-proof vest with a silent prayer of thanks that the young man bothered to wear it, and hands it to Sarah to take out of the bathroom.

While she's doing that, Casey pulls off Chuck's t-shirt. He sees the wince Chuck gives as he lifts his arms, so he's somewhat prepared for the imprint of a boot which lies black along Chuck's ribs.

'Shoulda said something. You might need an x-ray,' Casey grumbles, dropping the t-shirt on the floor. Somehow there is blood on that too.

Chuck shakes his head, teeth chattering. 'Nothing broken,' he whispers.

'You sure?' Casey checks the area with fingers that are surprisingly strong and competent and gentle all at the same time, but it still makes Chuck wince and hiss with the pain. 'Looks like you got lucky this time,' Casey rumbles and casually undoes Chuck's belt.

Chuck doesn't protest, which bothers Casey more than he cares to admit. He locks eyes with Sarah, who nods almost imperceptibly and starts to undress herself.

Casey pushes down Chuck's trousers, then kneels, helps him out of his baseball boots and pushes the trousers off and away with his socks. Over the dressing that the field medic put on, Casey puts a larger, waterproof dressing, smoothing it down carefully, making sure it's stuck tight to the muscle all the way around. Then he stands up again, hooks his thumbs under the waistband of Chuck's boxer shorts and slides them down.

By this time, Sarah is naked, her clothes piled neatly on top of the toilet cistern. She ties up her hair and steps into the shower.

'Come on, Chuck. We need to get you clean.' She holds out her hand and Chuck turns to join her.

Catching sight of his blood-stained clothes, he lurches for the sink and vomits again. Casey holds his shoulders, steadying him when his knees threaten to give way. At last, taking breaths that are half sobs, Chuck runs the tap, letting it wash away the bile, and rinses out his mouth. When he stands, Casey is right beside him, making sure he can't see anything other than blue eyes which are full of concern, compassion, patience.

Chuck lets Casey guide him into the shower stall, where Sarah moves him to stand under the spray of warm water. She waits in front of him as he stares at the tiled wall above her head, letting the water sluice down him.

He only moves when the shower door opens again and Casey steps inside. Crowding closer to Sarah, Chuck blinks and wipes a hand over his face.

'Close your eyes,' Casey rumbles, standing so close that Chuck can feel the heat of that strong body down the length of his back. Chuck doesn't want to close his eyes; he doesn't know what's waiting behind his eyelids.

'I don't want to get shampoo in them,' the big man explains, and that makes enough good sense that Chuck's eyes close themselves. He doesn't have time to find out what's waiting in the darkness because Casey's hands are in his hair, rubbing and massaging with the same combination of strength and gentleness that they used to check his ribs.

Casey makes him tilt his head, cupping a hand along his forehead so that the water doesn't run into his eyes. The other hand works through Chuck's curls, making sure that all the shampoo is out.

'Okay, you can open them again,' the big man says at last, so Chuck does. He finds himself staring directly at Sarah's breasts. There's a second where his brain simply stops working, then he feels his jaw drop and, blushing furiously, his eyes snap up to her face.

Her cheeks are pink, and there's a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but she says, ever the professional, 'Put your hands on my shoulders. For balance.'

Again, Chuck finds himself obeying automatically, too lost in staring at her even to jump when a soapy cloth starts being wiped over his back and shoulders. Casey pauses to re-soap the cloth, then works his way lower, over Chuck's hips, buttocks and all the way down the backs of his legs.

'My turn,' Sarah says softly, looking up at Chuck.

Chuck swallows and lifts his hands away from her shoulders.

Casey takes half a step forwards, and that solid wall of muscle he calls a chest is right there against Chuck's back.

'Don't worry,' the big man growls. 'I won't let you fall.'

'You never do,' Chuck says absently, mesmerized by the sight of Sarah rubbing a cloth over his chest. It comes away pink, and abruptly Chuck loses the ability to breathe properly.

'Oh god,' he whispers, but then there is a hand under his chin, fingers holding his jaw, making him look up, look round, and back into Casey's blue eyes.

'I can't...' Chuck panics, taking quick, shallow breaths.

It's the simplest thing in the world for Casey to kiss him.

Chuck's breathing slows and his eyelids flutter closed. Casey keeps one hand flat along Chuck's jaw, his cheek. The other is clasped around his shoulder, holding him still so that Sarah can wash the blood away.

The kiss is slow, lazily gentle, Casey's lips moving against his, Casey's tongue slipping inside his mouth and sliding against his tongue. Chuck is so caught up in it that he forgets his panic, forgets that he should find this deeply weird. Instead there is the water running over his body, and there is Casey's wet muscled body that his own is pressed against, and there is the cloth which Sarah is wiping over his stomach and down, over his genitals, skirting around the dressing on his leg, to his ankle, and then the other leg, and finally his feet.

Sarah stands, leaving the washcloth on the floor, and takes hold of Chuck's wrists. Where the rope chafed them, she places little kisses, all the way around each wrist in turn. Then she takes that same half-step forwards and Chuck can feel her breasts pressing against his chest, her toned stomach against his hip as she slides her arms around his waist, lifts her head and kisses the pale column of his throat.

Chuck shivers. This is different from the shaking he did while he was in the warehouse, in the car. A tiny noise escapes him, to be swallowed up by Casey's life-giving mouth. They notice, both his handlers, and between them they hold him tightly, keeping him upright. He can feel the beginnings of Casey's arousal against the tops of his thighs, against his buttocks, and he can feel the beginnings of his own as his penis stirs against Sarah's abdomen. In answer, she presses herself to him even more closely, sliding her water-slick body against his until he is half-erect and his arms wrap around her waist, her hips, of their own accord.

Casey breaks the kiss to murmur roughly, 'We should take this into the bedroom.'

'If you want to,' Sarah adds, looking up at Chuck with huge eyes.

Chuck swallows and nods, feeling a little dizzy now that he isn't twisted half around. Casey shuts off the water and Chuck shivers again as the big man opens the shower door, letting in a swirl of cooler air. Sarah keeps her arms wrapped around him until Casey envelops him in a large dark blue towel and steps out of the stall. Then she makes sure the towel is wrapped around him in place of her arms, instead using them to turn him around.

Blinking once more, Chuck shuffles to the shower door, where Casey, a smaller towel tucked neatly around his waist, is waiting for him. Strong arms reach out for him, gather him around his aching ribs, around the backs of his thighs, then the agent is carrying him as though he weighs no more than a child, and like a child, he buries his head against Casey's neck, eyes shut tight so that he can't see the blood on the bathroom floor.

Casey sets Chuck down beside the bed. 'Sit,' he says a little gruffly, and Chuck, opening his eyes, sits. From within the cocoon of his towel he watches as Casey dries himself off. The older man's physique is remarkable; he appears to be pure muscle, marred only by scars which are largely faded to white lines against his light tan.

The long legs Chuck has seen before. They are the legs of a runner, slender, almost delicate at the ankle and slimmer than one would have thought all the way up. And the chest Chuck has also seen before, with just enough dark hair to be virile; not so sparse as to be disappointing, but not so thick as to look ridiculous either.

Casey dries his hair, roughly toweling it until it stops dripping. When he is done, he looks nothing like the groomed salesman he presents to the Buy More or the stone-cold killer of his government work. He is male, handsome, elemental.

'Let's get you dry,' Casey says, and his voice is uncharacteristically soft. He sits beside Chuck and uncovers first one arm, then another, drying them with the corners of the towel as he frees them. He rubs across Chuck's chest, then leaving the towel in place across his back, he rubs those strong hands over Chuck's shoulders.

Sarah joins them, walking out of the bathroom with her hair, still damp, loose around her shoulders. She is naked, completely unself-conscious, skin still flushed from the hot water.

'How are you doing, Chuck?' she asks, smiling at him.

'Damp,' Chuck says, managing an almost-smile back.

'I can see that,' she says. 'How about I help get you dry?'

Chuck nods. This should be even more deeply weird, he thinks as she kneels in front of him and begins to dry his legs. But the thought comes from a distance; it has no significance, so Chuck simply lifts his feet when prompted to, stands to allow Casey to whisk away the towel, then sits again, all the time watching these two people who time and again have placed his life over theirs.

It doesn't seem remotely fair to Chuck that two people, so handsome, so beautiful, so graceful in a way he doesn't see that he is beginning to possess, should value his life so highly, orders or no. He opens his mouth to tell them, but their eyes are on him, watching him so closely and with such care that they move to forestall his protests.

Sarah leans in and kisses him just as Casey, big, scary, angry Casey, sucks at the point where his neck and shoulder meet. As he gasps, Sarah's tongue slips inside his mouth. She is smaller, softer, sweeter than Casey, and her tongue dances inside his mouth, inviting him to join in, so he does.

Casey nibbles the length of Chuck's neck. One hand rests reassuringly on his shoulder, the other settles at his hip. Chuck arches back towards Casey and Sarah takes the opportunity to kiss her way down his throat. Her hands skim over his chest, brushing lightly over his nipples and drawing a gasp from him. Hearing it, Casey squeezes Chuck's hip and turns, curling one leg up onto the bed behind Chuck to close the gap between them until Chuck's shoulder is once again pressed against his chest.

Casey's hand slips forward from Chuck's hip just as Sarah's hands glide down over his stomach. Chuck lets out a shocked cry as the two hands reach his groin at the same time and Sarah wraps her fingers around him, then Casey covers her hand with his own. Together they stroke him upwards, slowly, smoothly, then gently their hands move down again. Chuck leans back against Casey, who kisses him again, harder this time. Sarah turns her attention to Chuck's throat, chest, nipples, and Chuck moans. There is no possibility of changing his mind about this; Chuck is helpless to resist even if he wanted to, a thought which hasn't even entered his mind; a mind which is in the process of happily shutting down with each slow stroke of those two hands.

All too soon they stop, leaving Chuck whimpering with frustration. But Casey wraps an arm around his chest and slides him further onto the bed. Sarah waits until he is settled, laid in the middle of the king-sized mattress before she crawls up the bed towards him. He has time to see her head dip down, her hair dropping forward around her face, her lips open as she takes him into her mouth, and then Casey is kissing him once more, hands searching out his nipples, where they tease and rub, pinch and circle until Chuck is on the verge of coming apart.

As Chuck's breathing gets harsher, more erratic, and his erection grows, if anything, even harder, Sarah lets him slip from her mouth. The mattress shifts and dips as she retreats to the bedside cupboard, returning moments later with a box of condoms and a bottle of lubricant. Deftly she takes out a condom and rolls it down over him, making him cry out against Casey's lips, and Casey pulls back, assessing the situation.

'Turn on your side,' he rasps, laying a hand against the flank of Chuck's thigh. When Chuck does so, rolling over to face Sarah, Casey quickly moves down the bed behind him. Sarah lies down beside him, smiling. She strokes his face, his jaw, and he brushes her hair back behind her ear. She inches closer, kisses him, and he loses himself in the feel of her talented mouth on his, her hand brushing over his erection.

Another talented mouth kisses him at the base of his spine. Casey's hands cup his cheeks, parting them as that clever tongue licks its way down.

Chuck stills, uncertainty creeping in around the edges of his quiescent mind, but then Casey licks at his opening and Chuck's mind shuts right back down again. He gasps, hips jerking forward into Sarah's hands, then his knees draw up a little, spreading to give Casey easier access. Sarah strokes him harder, biting at his lip as he hangs onto her. Casey's tongue licks a circle around that sensitive spot, then probes, pushing. A finger, wet briefly by that same tongue, joins it in pushing at Chuck's dimple, and then it slides inside and Chuck doesn't know whether to call out or sob. Sarah's hand tightens around him, keeping to the same agonizingly slow pace as Casey's finger slips back out, to be replaced by Casey's tongue.

Chuck makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat and concentrates on remembering to breathe as the sensation threatens to overwhelm him. Then the finger is back, coated in lubricant. It slides in easier and Casey moves up a little, kissing the small of his back, working his way up Chuck's spine as that finger inches inside him, pulls back, only to push in further. A second finger joins it and Chuck doesn't know how much more of this he can take. He can feel tears prickling at the backs of his eyes, and he breaks off from kissing Sarah to whimper.

'Please? Please!'

'Okay, Chuck,' Sarah whispers. Casey's hand withdraws from Chuck as Sarah rolls over, away from him, then presses her beautiful, perfectly toned bottom against his groin. Parting her legs, she reaches back between them and guides the head of Chuck's penis until it rests just inside her folds. Chuck carefully rolls his hips forward and slides into her. Sarah is so hot around him, so slick and smooth and tight, and Chuck could keep on moving inside her forever, but then Casey, safely sheathed in rubber, is pushing at his entrance again, so much hotter than his fingers, wider, blunter. Chuck stills again, giving Casey time to push in slowly, slowly, but at last he is seated inside Chuck, who is seated inside Sarah.

They breathe for a moment, lying body to body to body. Then Casey reaches over, tracing a hand down Chuck's arm until he can link fingers with the younger man. Gently he guides Chuck's hand up to Sarah's breast, rubbing the palm in a circle over her nipple until Chuck can feel it peak and Sarah's breath catches. Then the older man leaves him to explore Sarah's incredible breasts, sliding one large hand back down the curve of Sarah's ribs, waist, hips. He dips two fingers between her folds, finding her clitoris with ease. His fingers move in tiny circles over that bundle of nerves and with the three of them bound together by his strong arm, Casey starts to move.

As Casey rolls his hips back, pulling a little way out of Chuck, then pushes back in, Chuck groans, pushing into Sarah. They quickly fall into a rhythm, movements small and controlled, but growing faster, harder. Every time Chuck pulls out of Sarah, he pushes himself onto Casey, and every time Casey pulls out of him, he ends up buried to the hilt inside Sarah's velvet walls. Casey's breath is hot on his neck, the big man starting to tremble with the strain of holding back, and the knowledge that he, Chuck, is close to making the agent lose control is enough to push Chuck to the brink.

He pinches Sarah's nipple, panting against her ear, as Casey's fingers circle her clit at a furious pace. Sarah cries out, walls pulsing around Chuck with surprising force, and he calls out too, shattering into pieces as he fills the condom. Casey holds her tight to Chuck as he keeps his fingers circling, rubbing. She convulses, knees pulling up, head straining forward, her orgasm a wordless, soaring cry that seems to go on forever. Chuck can't move, can't breathe as he pours himself out, as Casey fills him again and again, thrusting harder, faster, hitting off Chuck's prostate until he comes again, unexpectedly. With a roar Casey stops and Chuck can feel him pulse as finally he comes.

They lie side by side by side until their breathing is no longer ragged and rasping, until both Chuck and Casey are softening. Casey withdraws first, slipping out of Chuck and rolling to one side with practiced ease to reach for tissues. Chuck gathers what is left of his coordination and ends up flopping onto his back. He takes the tissues from Casey, wrapping his condom in one and wiping himself off before passing the box to Sarah. She wipes herself, then turns to face the two men, a smile curving across her face. She kisses Chuck again, then brushes a thumb under his eyes, under hers, smudging away the tears.

Casey makes them all move for just long enough to pull the sheets over them, then he switches off the light. One by one they fall asleep, and in the morning, Chuck wakes slowly, sore, but happy. Sarah is in his arms, head tucked under his chin, one naked leg snaked between his. And at his back, reassuringly solid like the proverbial immovable object, Casey is lying, his chest against Chuck's shoulders and an arm over his waist.

This kind of sore, he thinks, is the kind he could live with forever.


End file.
